The Alchemy Lab
by GBlackwell
Summary: Collection of one-shots related to Fullmetal Alchemist. Chapter 3: Vita Homunculi. A twist on a fairly common homunculus story. Takes place in the first anime universe. Warning: language.
1. Table of Contents

**Table of Contents**

**(To help guide you through this ridiculously random fic, and pick what you want to read)**

**Chapter 1: **Ed is Dead

Genre: Crack, (black) humor

Summary. Well, it's about Ed being dead. Contains OOC-ness, gratuitous Mary-Sues, Roy abuse, randomness, and death.

**Chapter 2: **Juliet Douglass

Genre: Angst

Summary: Juliet Douglass, also known as Sloth, might be what you call a lost soul… expect apparently she doesn't even have that. Takes place in the first anime!verse.

**Chapter 3: **Vita Homunculi

Genre: General.

Summary: Alternate take on a common homunculus story, told from the eyes of a homunculus himself. Warnings: language, ranting


	2. Ed is Dead

**Chapter 1: Ed is Dead**

**This is a collection of any FMA story that happens to be on my mind at the moment. It will contain everything from AUs to romance to tragedy to humor to adventure to character studies to whatever else I can think of. One thing that will most likely NOT be in here, however, is yaoi, which I don't see as having any evidence in this particular anime/manga.**

**This first story: essential information includes that it takes place post-manga/Brotherhood. My personal comment on it is that I am not really happy with it, but decided to upload it anyway because I wrote out 5000 words, and didn't want to waste the effort. I may not be the best humor/crack-fic author... but oh well.**

**Disclaimer: DO I LOOK LIKE A COW TO YOU?**

* * *

**~Ed is Dead~**

* * *

Edward Elric, formerly known as the Fullmetal Alchemist, was dead.

There was no doubt about it. Forget all of the miraculous comebacks he had made in the past, forget that he had gone through the gate four times and survived: this time was it. True, they hadn't found the body, but that was because the outpost he had been in was hit with a massive explosion that vaporized everyone inside. They hadn't found _any _bodies, only some dark impressions on the wall of what had once been human beings.

Apparently, it was some sort experimental weapon that Drachma had "atomic something or other." Something like that. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Ed was dead. And Brigadier General Roy Mustang had to go tell this to his brother and girlfriend.

"Riza?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Can you do it?"

"No, sir."

Roy groaned.

* * *

Winry Rockbell's reaction was… well, exactly as predicted. It happened in stages:

Stage 1: Blankness, not quite understanding.

Stage 2: Sudden realization, seeming ready to faint, clutching onto Alphonse for support.

Stage 3: Holding back tears. Eventually unable to keep them back. Bursting into sobs.

Stage 4: "That _bastard!_He said he'd never make me cry again! I swear I'll kill him!"

Stage 5: "IT'S YOUR FAULT, YOU AND YOUR DAMNED MILITARY KEEPING HIM AWAY ALL THIS TIME AND SENDING HIM ON THESE STUPID SUICIDE MISSIONS!"

Stage 6: "I'm sorry… I'm sorry General Mustang… I overreacted. Please don't die on me, it was just a little wrench hit…"

(Riza could have easily averted this catastrophe, but she seemed content to stand at attention, a tiny smirk on her face.)

"I think you gave him a concussion, Winry," Alphonse said with remarkable calmness.

"Dammit, I could get charged with assault for this! Oh no, oh no, what do I do? Riza…?"

"It never happened."

Winry and Alphonse turned to look at the military woman, surprise and confusion written on their faces.

"He called me 'Lisa,'" she explained.

(And that, kids, is why you never break bad news to Winry Rockbell without wearing a helmet!...Or call Hawkeye by her rank so long that you forget her actual name…)

* * *

Whilst Mustang recovered from his concussion in the hospital (he decided not to report the incident) he received a visitor.

"Hello, Alphonse."

"Hi, General Mustang," the young man replied, a cheery smile on his face. "How are you?"

"I'm… fine," Mustang said, plastering a false look of "fine-ness" on his face. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Huh?"

"You don't need to hold in your emotions if you don't want to," Mustang said compassionately. In a normal situation, he might have put a fatherly arm around Al's shoulders, but he was having trouble moving. Damn concussion.

Alphonse's face darkened. "I know. I just… don't even know how to respond to all of this…"

"It's okay," Mustang said, comforting the young man.

"I mean, we need to get Winry a new punching bag as soon as possible," Alphonse said in all seriousness. "Who knows what danger the world is in when there's no one around that she can take out her frustration on?"

"I can understand that you would be sa… wait, _what?" _Mustang gaped at the boy in front of him. "What about your brother? Edward. Aren't you sad that he's gone?"

"Oh. That," Alphonse said, flatly. "Umm, actually… I had been meaning to talk to someone about that. You see, it's really funny, but… I'm not."

A long pause. Mustang could hear the ticking of the clock somewhere in the background.

"Did Edward do something to alienate you before he left?" Mustang asked.

"No, he was the same as ever."

"You didn't have some kind of fight?"

"No."

"…Nothing happened to ruin your relationship?"

"No."

"…"

"I'm just not sad. I mean, I always thought I would be sad when this day came, but I'm just not. I keep telling myself, 'Brother is dead, he's not coming back, he's been turned into some kind of dusty silhouette on a wall somewhere, you should feel sad…' But… nothing. I just don't feel anything at all."

"…"

"Does this make me a bad person?"

"Er… it's definitely not what I was expecting, but… no, you're not a bad person, Alphonse, you're probably just in denial."

"Denial?"

"Yes. Basically, your mind is not accepting that Ed is dead. You have accepted it intellectually, but not emotionally."

"So…?"

"So when you least expect it, you'll have the most wonderful emotional breakdown."

"Oh."

* * *

Planning the funeral turned out to be a trickier matter than he had expected. For one thing, Winry wanted to have the funeral in Risembool, so that they could bury the empty casket next to Trisha Elric's. On the other hand, Fuhrer Grumman wanted to use Edward's death as a huge political event and a chance to make a statement about the amorality of Drachma's new weapon, as well as something of a "nationalism-building" exercise.

They solved this dilemma by having a reasonable discussion in Central Headquarters. Which is to say that they were all at each other's throats in a matter of minutes. After much shouting and people suffering wrench-induced head trauma, they eventually took the long-delayed reasonable option and asked the only remaining family member.

"Well, the real Ed's splatted over a wall somewhere," Alphonse said cheerily, "So it doesn't actually matter where we bury the casket. How about we have one in Central and one in Risembool?"

Though everyone was perturbed by the younger brother's nonchalance (everyone was staring at him and some people stepped away nervously), they eventually decided that this was the best course of action.

* * *

"Sir."

"What, Li-I mean, uh, Captain?"

"That casket."

"What about it?"

"In all honesty… it looks like crap."

"So?"

"You can't have a coffin that cheap at a public funeral."

"So?"

"It will send out the message that the military doesn't care for its men."

"So?"

"So go purchase a different one."

"But I don't wannaaa…"

* * *

Winry was back in the hotel room she had rented in Central so that she could attend the public funeral, crying (of course) when she decided that she needed someone at her side, someone to reminisce about old times with, a shoulder to cry on, someone to wipe her tears away. And that's why she called up Alphonse.

"Sure Winry," he said cheerfully in the same voice that he used when he was talking about the weather, "I'll be right over."

And right over he was. Winry heard a knock on the door, and she ran over to get it, her mood brightening at the thought of spending time with her childhood friend. She opened the door…

And to her dismay saw him there, with two girls hanging off his arms. One had long, black hair and silky cat ears sticking out of it, while the other was a pale redhead that seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the hotel. They were both giggling and staring at Alphonse with dreamy looks.

"Alphonse," Winry said harshly, "Who exactly are these… people?"

Alphonse flushed with embarrassment. "Er, well, these are my girlfriends. Two of them, at any rate."

"What," Winry said, her voice too filled with venom to form a proper question.

The two girls giggled. "Ohhh, Alphonse-kun, you're soooo adorable," said the dark-haired one, pawing him.

"Alphonse," Winry said sternly, "Why did you bring those… things here when I asked you to come?"

Alphonse turned red. "I didn't want to! I told them that I needed to go visit you, and that my brother had died recently, but… I don't think they heard it."

Winry glanced disdainfully at the two giggling, blushing girls. "They didn't hear it," she repeated doubtfully.

"No! In fact, I don't think they hear anything I say. See, watch this: Raven, I think you're hideous."

"Oh, Alphonse," the black-haired girl said, "Thank you soooo much!"

"You do realize that I'm dating several other girls that are indistinguishable from yourself in terms of personality? That I'm currently with another girl at this very instant?"

"I love you too, Alphonse-kun."

Alphonse turned to the other girl, smiling cheerfully as he spoke, "Moonlight-Starglitter? Your name is ridiculous, your outfit is ridiculous, and I hate your guts. Go die in a hole."

"You're peerrrrrfect, Alphonse!" the red-head responded.

"Then why don't you just toss them off?" Winry asked coldly.

"Er… that's the problem. _They don't come off."_

"What do you mean they…?"

He shook his arms dramatically for emphasis. The girls were lifted off the floor, but didn't even seem phased and stuck to his arms.

"Why are you even _going out _with these sluts at all when Ed… Ed is…" Winry couldn't finish.

"Why not?" Alphonse asked innocently, "Besides, it's not as thought they leave…"

Winry responded by slamming the door in his face.

* * *

"Sir."

"What now, Captain?"

"You need to go through all the requests to attend Major Elric's funeral."

"Sure. Where are they?"

"Here, sir."

"What the-?! That's the biggest pile of paperwork I've ever seen!"

"This is only a fraction of what we have, plus more will arrive over the next few days. I have the U-Haul people bringing in the rest."

"U-Haul? Since when was the pipsqueak so popular?

"Since he was named 'the hero of the people,' I suppose."

"Pfft. No way am I doing all of that."

"You must, sir."

"Fine. I'll start on it later."

"No, sir. That will only allow a larger pile up. You must start on it now."

"Later."

"Sir, we do not have all day, and quite frankly, I want to go home. You will start on it now."

"Later."

"Now."

"Later."

"Now.

"Late-"

(Gun clicks.)

"Now, sir."

"Holy shit, Riza! What are you doing?! This paperwork will never get done if you kill me!"

"True, but you can still do paperwork if there are a few holes in your leg."

"You're bluff-"

(Gun fires.)

"-SHIT!

"Do you doubt me now, sir?"

* * *

Riza was wiping her hands in her office when she heard a knock at her door.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened quietly and respectfully, revealing her visitor.

"Alphonse," she said kindly, "Come in. Have a seat."

"Okay," the young man said, smiling as he did so. "Er… is that blood you're wiping off?"

"Yes, Alphonse. Yes it is."

"…"

"I didn't do anything that he didn't deserve."

"…"

"Is there something you came to see me about?"

"Oh! Yes. I was wondering if you could help me with this 'denial' thing."

Riza nodded, remembering. "The General told me about that. Actually, everyone has been noticing your lack of response to your brother's death. We have all been quite worried."

"I'm sorry," Alphonse said earnestly. "I don't want to make anyone worried or upset. I just don't feel sad. And now I've made Winry upset."

Riza almost asked if Winry had been anything but mad the past few days, but instead she asked, "What happened?"

"Well, she got angry because I was going out with Raven Moonlight-Starglitter so shortly after Ed's death."

"Who are Raven and… whatever the other one was named?"

"Oh, they're some of my girlfriends."

Riza blinked. "_Some _of your girlfriends?"

"Yeah. Raven has long, glossy black hair and rainbow eyes. Oh, and she's a cat chimera. Moonlight is a redhead that sparkles, kind of like Armstrong." Alphonse blinked, and then grimaced, "Oh, truth, that was the most disturbing comparison I could have made…"

"Alphonse…s_ome _of your girlfireds? Since when have you had more than one?"

"Well, ever since I got my body back, I've been meeting all of these girls who suddenly start spilling their tragic pasts to me because I'm a 'sensitive soul' or whatever. So I listen, and then they declare their undying love for me and say they want to marry me. And then they proceed to… not leave."

"And… you weren't disturbed by this?"

He shrugged. "I was at first, but… there's no getting rid of them. Ever. At all. No matter _what _I say…. Or how far I run, so… I decided to make the best of the situation and use the opportunity to experiment with my new body." He grinned. "I even got some tips from Mustang."

A thought ran through her head: Stupid General, corrupting the youth.

"There's Raven, Musetta, Starglitter-Moonlight or whatever her name is, Roxanne, Georgette, Camille, a bunch of others whose names I can't remember…"

"What?" Riza asked, "What about Mei?"

Alphonse looked at her, confused. "Who's Mei?"

Riza considered a lot of different responses before deciding to change the subject: "So, Winry was mad you going on a date with one of these girls?"

"Yeah. Er, though I'm not sure if it counts as a date if you didn't agree to go out with the girl… Anyway, at first she just slammed the door in my face, but then when I went back she shouted at me. She was like, 'How can you go out with that slut now that your brother's dead? Aren't you sad at all?' and I said, 'No, I'm still in denial.' And she told me that's not an excuse, but I said, 'Brother's not going to come back to life if I stop having fun.' And then she said, 'How can you even have fun like that? You shouldn't be going out with those stupid girls at all!' and I said, 'Well, would you prefer to go out with me?'"

There was a long pause. "What did she do?" Riza asked.

"Well, she looked like she wanted to slap me, but, c'mon, no one ever hurts me."

(It was true. One look at Al's innocent demeanor was enough to quell even the most violent of fits. That honest expression, those golden puppy eyes…)

"So," Alphonse continued, "She just screamed something about how I was a terrible brother and ran out of the room. I think she put a few people into comas on the way. I don't understand why she was so upset. I just wanted to take her mind off of all of it."

Riza sighed. Had Alphonse inherited Ed's obliviousness when the latter had died? "Alphonse," she said, "You hit on your brother's girlfriend while she was still mourning his death."

"I did?" he asked, surprised. Then, realization came over his face.

"Yes, that's right, Alphonse."

"But I didn't want to do that! I didn't mean it that way! Dammit, this wouldn't be happening if I wasn't in denial. How do I stop being in denial?"

"Well," Riza said, "Presumably you have to have a psychological breakdown."

"What? But I don't want to have a psychological breakdown! Can't I just skip the 'breakdown' part and skip to the 'I'm-sad-but-I'm-moving-on-with-my-life' stage?"

"No, the breakdown is absolutely necessary."

"Fine. How do I do that?"

"Think depressing thoughts," Riza instructed in complete deadpan. "Think about all of the good times you had with your brother in the past, and all of the wonderful things you could have done if he was still alive. Think about how you sacrificed yourself to the gate to keep him among the living, and realize how pointless it all is now that he's dead anyway. Focus on how terrified his last moments must have been right before he was vaporized along with anyone else, and how he was a noble person who didn't deserve to die, not like that."

There was a long pause.

"Does any of that make you feel sad?" she asked.

"No," he responded honestly.

She reached out and put a caring hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't need to worry about having an emotional breakdown. We have already prepared for the event. I have called the Central Psychiatric Ward and they are on stand-by, waiting for it."

"That's very kind of—Wait, WHAT?!"

* * *

"Alphonse-kun! Can we go out tomorrow?"

"…No, Raven, tomorrow I'm going to my brother's funeral. Oh, and I want to break up with you, though I'm not sure if 'break-up' is the right term since I never actually agreed to date you in the first place. You see, I don't want to make Winry mad anymore, and the best way to do that would be to break up with all of my girlfriends. Hence, breaking up with you."

"Great! So, 3:00 p.m?"

Alphonse, being the epitome of patience, said calmly, "I don't think you understand, Raven. I am not going out with you tomorrow at all. I want to break up."

"I think we should go to the park!"

Alphonse sighed. Had he really been expecting anything different? The perks of having "admirers" was really wearing off fast.

At that moment another girl walked in.

"Hey, Alphonse," the new girl said, 'I was wondering…"

"Hello, Georgette!" Alphonse addressed her cheerfully, "This is one of my other girlfriends, Raven. She's the clingiest. Have I mentioned that I'm technically cheating on both of you? Oh wait, does it count as cheating since technically I didn't agree to date either of you?"

"Stop interrupting, Al! Anyway, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow…'

"It's my brother's funeral funeral tomorrow, and I think that it's a serious social taboo to not attend a family member's funeral, even if you're in denial. So no."

"..And if maybe we could go out and get ice cream?"

Alphonse sighed again, and massaged his forehead. This was going to be a long night…

* * *

The day of the funeral was sunny. Blisteringly sunny, in fact. Everyone was sweating in their long, dark funeral or military attire as the case happened to be. It didn't help that a million people had showed up at the funeral either. There were traffic problems, and several roads around the cemetery had to close because of the influx of Fullmetal's fans.

Brigadier General Mustang arrived in full military attire. He walked on crutches, as he had recently been in the hospital for a gunshot in the leg. He also was coping with the aftereffects of a concussion.

"Sir," Hawkeye said, "Why are there so many people?"

"Erm, well I got sick of signing all of the requests to attend, so we just arranged for a general announcement that anyone who wanted to come could."

Hawkeye glared.

"Oh come on! The requests were coming in U-Hauls!"

She only glared more.

* * *

"Where is Alphonse, anyway?" Winry asked herself, her eyes scanning the enormous crowd of people dressed in black. Her eyes were caught by the sight of someone… someone wearing khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. The bright colors of his clothing stuck out among the crowd.

"Alphonse," she growled under her breath.

"Hi, Winry!" he shouted, smiling brightly and waving to her.

"Alphonse!" she shouted back, "Get over here!"

Her friend did as she said. She had the sudden urge to yank his ear, but she took one look at his round childlike face, and his wide, innocent golden-green eyes that shone with pure puppy-doggishness and she couldn't.

So instead she hissed, "What are you doing here, dressed like that?" She was going for a "cold" tone, but the heat of the environment melted it into an exhausted rasp.

"Well, I'm attending Brother's funeral," Alphonse said, raising his eyebrows with a tone that might have sounded sarcastic with anyone else's voice. "And I'm dressed like this because it's too warm outside for black. Why are you dressed like _that_? Aren't you hot?"

Winry was wearing a long, modest black dress that she had bought specifically for the occasion. She _was_ hot: sweat was practically pouring down her face and she felt like her bare skin was being baked dry. But she wouldn't admit that. "I don't know," she snapped before she even knew what she was saying, "Do _you _think I'm hot?"

"Yeah, you look really, really hot. I mean, don't you just want to take that o-"

Alphonse stopped, suddenly aware of the double meaning in what he was saying. He then turned bright red, and suddenly found his feet very interesting. Winry actually couldn't flush any more than she already was, but a look of shock on her face and the following glare was a decent enough substitute.

(The glare was as close to smacking him as she was ever going to get, because, c'mon, no one ever hurts Al.)

"I should probably go now," Alphonse squeaked.

"Yeah, you probably should," Winry said.

* * *

Before the service started, Mustang noticed a tall familiar figure standing at the back of the crowd.

"What the…? _Scar? _What's Scar doing here?"

"Huh?" asked Hawkeye, before she saw the Ishvallan former serial-killer. "I didn't know he came… Well you did say anyone could come."

"Yes, but…but… Scar!"

The Ishvallan man caught sight of him over the crowd and shrugged. Mustang gave an exasperated sigh and hobbled over to the Ishvallan man on his crutches.

"Why are you here?" he demanded sharply.

"There are refreshments afterwards," the nameless man said.

"What? You came because of that? Not because of some kind of respect you had gained for Ed after being both his enemy and his ally?"

"No."

"I can't believe this!"

"I am a homeless, jobless, wandering monk and a serial killer," the Ishvallan deadpanned, "How do you think I get food?"

Long, awkward pause.

"…Are you implying that you get food by crashing funerals?"

"And weddings," the Ishvallan added.

Roy just gaped. Before he could say anything else, Alphonse came up, still red from his recent encounter with Winry. Seeing the new guest as a way to distract him from his embarrassment, he greeted the scarred man.

"Hey Scar!" he said, a bit too cheerily, "How've ya been?"

"Fine, how are you?" the Ishvallan responded politely.

"I'm doing great! Brother's dead and for some reason I'm not sad at all!"

"You must be in denial," the Ishvallan man said wisely.

"Yes, that's what I told him," Mustang said.

"Perhaps it's because the body was never found?" Scar offered.

"There weren't_any_ bodies. All bodies were vaporized in the explosion."

"Hmmm. Have you called the Psychiatric Ward yet?"

Riza replied, "I have them on duty in this very crowd."

Alphonse's face fell. "But I'm not-!"

He was cut off by a sound from the loudspeaker: the funeral was starting.

* * *

As the priest began his speech, Winry found herself overcome. Not that the preacher was particularly eloquent or insightful, but simply because she was once again faced with the terrible reality that she had lost the man she loved. She began quietly hold back tears, strangling a few sobs within her chest.

Alphonse noticed her state of distress, and wondered if he should risk going over to comfort her. He decided that was worth a shot.

"Please don't cry Winry," he whispered.

"Go away," she replied, hostilely, trying to keep her voice from cracking. "It's not as though you care anyway."

"Of course I care. Brother wouldn't have wanted to see you crying." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, he _can't _see me now, anyway," she spat back.

"What do you mean? ...Oh, that's right, because he's…" Alphonse suddenly stopped. "He's…"

Winry suddenly was aware of a sudden change. She looked at Alphonse, and was that gentle, happy expression was suddenly gone from his face.

"He's…"

"Alphonse?"

Alphonse suddenly didn't seem to be aware of her. He stared ahead unaware of his surroundings.

"Alphonse?" she asked, tugging on his sleeve.

"Brother…" he breathed. "Brother's…"

He gulped, and finished, "…an atheist."

Somewhere in the crowd, the crew from the Psychiatric Ward had readied the straitjacket, and released a collective sigh of disappointment at the lack of an emotional breakdown.

"Not yet, boys," Riza told them over walkie-talkie, "Not yet."

* * *

"And it is in dying that one can be born unto eternal life, and be welcomed into God's arms as one of his beloved children. We ask the same for out dear departed Edward Elric, who was known throughout Amestris for his heroic…"

"Um, excuse me?" Alphonse asked, raisin his hand.

"…deeds. He was indeed one of the greatest heroes of our time, and…"

"Ex_cuse _me!" Alphonse said, angrily.

The priest rolled his eyes. "What is it… boy in the Hawaiian shirt?"

"Um… Ed was an atheist. Whose idea was it to get a priest to speak at his funeral?"

Everyone was quiet.

"Well, I didn't recommend it, certainly," Mustang said. "Grumman, er, Fuhrer sir?"

"Not me," the old man said.

"Actually, I don't remember a priest being authorized to speak at all," Hawkeye said.

"Curses!" the priest said, "Foiled again!"

"Yeah, yeah, get out."

* * *

As they were hauling the priest out, Alphonse released a sigh.

"Thank goodness," he said, "Brother would never have forgiven me if I let a priest talk at his funeral."

"I can't believe I didn't notice," Winry said, laughing a little despite her sadness.

"It's okay. You were too busy mourning. Which I should be doing," Alphonse said, a little glumly. "It's not my fault that I'm not sad."

"You could at least pretend to be," Winry pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm a terrible actor. And besides, I…" Alphonse trailed off, suddenly looking into the crowd. He gulped, "Oh no."

"What?"

"It's-"

"ALPHONSE!" Shouted a certain cat-chimera named Raven. "What are you doing here?!"

"Attending my Brother's funeral?" Alphonse said, awkwardly.

"LIAR!" she shouted. "You're on a date with her!" She pointed to Winry.

Raven hissed and drew out her claws. Winry snarled wordlessly back.

"Are you insane?" Alphonse asked, "She's in mourning. My brother was going to marry her."

"What?" asked Winry.

"Oh… well, he told me he was planning to propose right after the mission on which he…" Alphonse trailed off as he suddenly realized this was not the best situation to break the news in. So he just decided that suddenly his feet looked very interesting.

Winry looked stricken.

"I don't believe you, Alphonse!" Raven huffed, shooting another glare at the blond girl.

"Alphonse?" asked another high pitched voice from the crowd, causing the last remaining Elric to jump. "Alphonse is mine!"

"No, he's mine!"

"Wrong, bitches, Alphonse belongs to me!"

And before Alphonse and Winry knew what was happening, half a dozen glittering females had surrounded them, all angrily glaring at each other and (especially) Winry.

"Trust me, Raven, Georgette, Camille…" he looked around, nonplussed by the glaring faces upon him, "Penelope, Moonlight… all of you whose names I don't really bother to remember. I established from the first seconds of our relationships that I never took any of it seriously. I've cheated on you with tons of people, but not with Winry. Er, despite certain misunderstandings recently. No offense, Win?"

"… I guess I can forgive you… maybe," Winry grumbled.

Alphonse smiled brightly, "All right then. So, anyway, I've told you multiple times that I was cheating and that I never took our relationship seriously. So, if we can just be calm and not shout at the funeral…"

"DIE!" Raven screamed, launching herself at Winry, claws out. Winry responded by pulling out a wrench (don't ask where it came from) and knocking the dark-haired girl across the face.

Suddenly everyone in the funeral crowd turned their attention to the young people.

"CAT-FIGHT!" Someone shouted.

The crowd roared with approval.

…And then promptly proceeded into an all-out battle when a stray wrench hit a bystander.

* * *

"Sir."

"Yes, Captain?"

"The funeral has officially gone to hell."

"I noticed... how did this happen?"

"I have no idea, sir, but everyone's coming at everyone else with tooth and claw."

The General and his Captain surveyed the bloodied field. Winry was finishing of her opponent with a final, "THIS IS FOR DISRESPECTING ED'S FUNERAL, BITCH!" and a wrench whack. All around her, people were punching random people, and tearing up the scenery. Alphonse looked horribly lost (he wasn't getting hit because… you know.)

"What's our plan of action, sir?"

"Run. Run for it."

"Good plan."

* * *

To wrap things up:

The Mary-Sues all killed each other while fighting over a confused Alphonse. Everyone else, fighting just for kicks and to burn off the frustration of being in an overcrowded place too long, eventually managed to knock over every object that had once stood up. Scar got annoyed and made the faces of random people explode before casually walking out, his mouth stuffed with twinkies as he carried as many refreshments as he could salvage from the area.

Alphonse finally snapped out of his daze and yelled at everyone to just _shut up _and _what the hell was wrong with them anyway?!_ A few people stopped to listen to him, but unfortunately, before he could get anyone to calm down, he was swiftly sedated from behind and dragged off to the Central Psychiatric Ward paddy wagon. (Shouting could technically be taken as a sign of emotional breakdown, after all.)

The men in white-coats gave each other a couple of high-fives.

Winry escaped the fray and ran up to her hotel in central, tears—not of sadness, but of rage—streaming out of her eyes. She didn't know how many people would be in the hospital from her rampage, and she didn't care. Stupid Al, for having such a stupid girlfriend, for attacking her for no bystanders for getting involved and turning the entire occasion into a riot.

She had to routinely turn around and kick down random people who were following her, too. Damn it all. She finally made it up to room 305 in the Hotel Ritz—the hotel she always rented when she stayed in Central.

Winry slammed her hotel door behind her, and pulled out her wrench. She grinned madly, swearing to herself that the next person who followed her and came into her room would die.

Or at least suffer some severe head trauma.

* * *

There is a certain, pleasant lunch diner with a perfect view of the cemetery. Marcus, the owner of said diner, sighed and shook his head upon seeing the goings-on there. Why must everything end in violence? It was bad enough that he had no customers because everyone was at the funeral.

Or at least, almost no customers. There was this one short blond kid who came in looking like he had just come out of a war zone, all covered in dirt and whatnot. The kid ordered lemonade and greedily sipped it as his eyes wandered over to the view of the cemetery.

"Hey," the kid asked, "What's going on there?"

"Oh, some big-shot's funeral," Marcus told him.

"That's a funeral? Damn, who died? The Fuhrer? It looks like half the city's there, for crying out loud!" the young man said. "And why are they all fighting, anyway?"

"Who knows? When too many people are in the same area, anything can happen."

"Pssh. That's retarded," the kid said, his gloved hands clasping the drink and taking another sip. "Who goes to the funeral of someone they don't even know, anyway? I swear, when I die, I'm gonna be cremated. No funeral."

"Well, that's one way to get rid of a lot of complications," Marcus agreed.

After the kid finished his drink, he jumped off his seat. "Well, I'm off!" he said, "Thanks for the drink."

"Sure thing."

The kid was about to walk out the door, when he turned around. "Oh, by the way," he asked, "Can you give me directions to the Hotel Ritz?"

"Sure thing," Marcus said. "It's actually right down this road, and to the right. You can't miss it."

"Great. Thanks again."

The blond kid grinned and walked out the door, his uneven footsteps clicking against the pavement.


	3. Juliet Douglass

**Chapter 2: Juliet Douglass**

**Ookay...so, a few things. First: I changed the story title because the first one was too long. Second, considering that the last story was kind of pure crack, I decided to go for a complete mood whiplash and post this entirely different and slightly depressing homunculus story. What? The point of this collection is supposed to be diversity, so I thought the best way to show that would be to skip to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum...**

**Anyway, reviewers? You. are. AWESOME! Seriously, the reviews last chapter were great: reviews that actually said something. If I could get just two reviews like that every chapter, my life would be complete...Not that I'm expecting a lot of reviews for this chapter, though. Making chapter one pure crack and chapter two angst and drama is kind of weird.**

**Anyway, story essentials: takes place in the first anime and involves Sloth (Trisha Elric). Also, another character that seldom gets a happy ending.**

**I don't own.**

* * *

**Juliet Douglass**

* * *

The woman most commonly referred to as Juliet Douglass was set up in an apartment in Central city, alone. The city to her seemed cold and claustrophobic; which is to say she hardly understood how any living thing could breathe amongst the smog and steel buildings. The buildings were packed so tightly together that the humans living there seemed like chickens in tight cages. The entire city could really use s lot more space, maybe involving a few more green parks here and there, along with trees and some oxygen which (in Ms. Douglass's opinion) the city was in great need of.

However, she was living alone in the wretched city, and that was enough for her. She didn't have to spend time with Envy or Pride or Gluttony or any of the other homunculi (Lust was the only tolerable one, but she could never approve of a woman showing that much cleavage. Honestly). Most importantly, she didn't have to deal with Dante… the woman didn't like her, and Douglass felt that she could never be comfortable around her.

(She always thought of herself as "Juliet Douglass." Why? She didn't know. Maybe it was because that was how she was addressed most of the time in the military. But more than that, it was because she didn't feel like "Sloth" and she loathed the other name…)

She couldn't say that she _liked _living alone, but at the same time she knew it was better than keeping company with other homunculi. She liked the quiet hours to herself and enjoyed not having anyone around her. Her only complaint—if she was capable of inwardly objecting to any of her circumstances—was that there was not enough work for her to do. She finished her secretarial work so easily, and there was nothing else to do. She had no hobbies, as humans called them, and no company to idle away the hours with, so she passed her free time sitting in her room, quietly doing nothing, staring into the darkness, waiting for sleep.

(Maybe she did deserve the name "Sloth"…)

That was how it was at first. But, after a few weeks, she started to notice a gnawing feeling in her chest during those hours. She didn't realize what it was for a while, but sitting there with nothing to do but think, she had to realize it soon enough. Hollowness. Longing. Something that told her to find something to do.

So she started watching the humans from her window. She watched people walk by, many of them rather poor, unsavory, or downright dangerous. And then, sometimes, there were children playing the streets: this always filled her with a strange, twisted resentment because _what kind of parents would let their children play on these streets? _But she always pushed it down, reminding herself that it was none of her business.

It never occurred to her to actually go out and find something to amuse her. At least, not until the flashbacks started coming.

It was strange: she had had them before, but for some reason they became painfully frequent after being on her own for a month or so. The first one filled her with warmth: it was a man, with glasses and a kind smile and golden eyes… but then immediately afterwards it was followed by the most wrenching feeling of desolation. Then, there was the house, the lush green fields (so different from the pavement of Central) and children, two lovely boys. Sometimes, there were two people—_friends _that would look at her with smiles or sympathy. These memories were filled with warmth, hope, and joy. For a moment, each of them would make her _happy._

What a shame it would always lead back to that one, key memory in her existence: the one that involved her writhing on the floor in agony, her screams coming out as intelligible hissing as she reached out for someone, anyone to help her, and then…

"_Mom…?"_

Followed by a look of horror staring her in the face. Her creator (_child)_ gaping in horror at her.

As long as she existed and could remember, nothing mattered next to that stare. No matter what happy memories there might be in the past, _that _would always erase it. A look that told her she was hideous, frightening, a monster, an unnatural _abomination, _something that should never have existed, a mistake so frightening that even its creator (NOT her little boy) could only loathe it.

And then, she was left alone.

…

The memories kept getting worse. She managed every day to get her job done in an efficient manner, but as she got home each day she felt dizzy, unable to stop the feelings that would surge to her chest and weak from the emotional strain it put on her.

Each day she would still watch the people outside her window, still allowed her eyes to watch the children playing the streets and let sorrow absorb her. There was nothing else.

It was one evening, when another memory came back to her. It was so real: she could feel the children as she hugged them close, and the wind against her cheeks, and the sunlight. The sound of laughter rang in her ears and a voice.

"I'll come back for you, Trisha. I promise."

And then she was back in the dank apartment again, feeling like she had been stabbed through the heart.

_That's right. He never came back. He left me…_

And she remembered that all-knowing look of horror and disgust upon her birth as a homunculus, and it was too much. Juliet Douglass (that was her name, that was her namethatwashername)burst out of her apartment and ran shakily into the streets. She had to escape that room, had to run away from the memories. The air outside might have been full of smog, and the streets gray and cold, and the bulding claustrophobically tight together, but she _had to get away._

So she walked down the street, hurriedly and with no destination in mind, restraining her speed just enough to not look like a madwoman. She went through the streets, around corners, jostled people as they walked by. There had to somewhere she could go, someplace she could just forget…

"Mama!"

A tiny childlike hug enveloped her. She froze, and trembled as she looked down. It was a little girl with brown braids, her eyes closed out of sheer joy.

She hugged the girl in her arms without a second thought, suddenly overcome with feeling. There was about twelve seconds in which Juliet Douglass forgot all the bad memories, forgot that she wasn't human, forgot that no one in the world loved her, and just felt this familiar, maternal feeling wash over her. Then, the girl looked up at her face, and recoiled. Before Douglass could further react, the girl shrank from her and darted away with a shriek.

"No… wait…" the homunculus said, too softly for the girl to hear. But she knew it was hopeless: the girl had mistaken her for a _real _mama, and wouldn't accept a stranger. Douglass looked after the girl for a moment, and then stumbled dizzily away. She must have looked like a drunk, but she didn't care. Hobbling across the streets, she somehow made it back to her apartment.

Her face was wet. She founder herself collapsing on her desk and sobbing her heart out for the first time in her short second life, sobbing so hard that she fell to sleep.

When she woke up, she was only aware of how much she was missing. Nevertheless, she told herself that nothing could be done: she would just have to steel herself to living alone.

…

It was one day when she had gotten into an argument with a parent across the street. She didn't know what had stirred her from her apathy, but somehow she felt indignant when she saw that the person's child had no shoes. So she bought the child some, but the woman across the street yelled in her face that she wasn't accepting charity.

It had not ended well. And it was worse when, after the fight as she was about to enter her apartment, she heard a familiar, smug voice behind her: "Pfft, you really are pathetic."

"Envy…"

She turned around and saw the shapeshifter behind her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Well, whaddaya think? I'm bored, Lust's busy, and Dante's a bitch so I dropped by," he said, flashing a psychotic smirk.

She wasn't sure what the other homunculus was expecting from her. She decided to respond: "Well, then… do you want to come in?"

"Sure, sure," he said (she was pretty the shapeshifter was a he. It usually used male forms, after all.)

She opened the door and he came in, immediately throwing himself on the nearest piece of furniture. The phrase "like an unruly teenage boy" came to mind, but she reminded herself that Envy was far older than her, not necessarily male, and definitely not human . Still, she suddenly found herself wondering what age he was when he died…

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked politely. "I could make something, if you'd like…"

"Is that what you're always like? 'Oh, you would you like something to eat?' 'Oh, may I get you some tea?'" he used a ridiculous falsetto to imitate her (why didn't he just change his voice?) Anyway, she felt mildly insulted.

"Well, do you want something or not?" she asked, a little more sharply.

"I'm a homunculus! I don't need to eat."

"Maybe," she said, not sitting down. "But tasting food has value in and of itself, you know."

He eyed her. "Do you always use that goddamn voice?"

"Excuse me?"

"The all, 'I'm the perfect wife and mother voice.' It's fucking annoying."

She folded her arms. "I believe this is how I talk. If you don't like it, you can leave."

He rolled his eyes. "And there you go again."

"Is this all you came here for?"

He was quiet for a minute. "What did you think you were doing, giving shoes to that brat?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think that they'll actually accept you? Nah, humans have got this sixth sense: you know, the one that immediately goes: 'Monster, red alert. Shun at all costs.' It's like, some kind of survival mechanism. You know."

"Your point?"

"You should go kill the brat. And his bitchy mother. Come on, let's do it."

"Envy… how is that necessary?"

"Fuck necessary. Think of it as practice. Or recreation. It's better than being constantly rejected by the little insects."

She sighed. "Envy, don't you want to become human?"

"No."

She blinked, surprised. She had thought that the other homunculi wanted to become human, that that was why they were working for Dante. "Then why…?" she began, only to be cut off.

"Do you usually eat dinner?"

"Yes, I do," she answered.

"What do you make?"

"Something different every night."

"What? Sound pointless to me." And then, in a different tone, he asked. "When you were human, what did you usually make for your kids?"

"Stew…"

He was quiet for a minute.

"If you would like some stew, I would gladly…"

"No," he said a bit too quickly. "You still make that?"

"Well, it's a very practical dish…"

He cut her off with a long, bitter laugh."You're such a pretender, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, a bit more harshly.

" You're all like, 'I'm going to try to socialize, exactly like a human!' and 'I'm going to be all charitable, like a human' and 'I'm going to have human manners! And cook human dinners and the same fucking meals that I ate when I was human!'"

She was quiet.

"You've been having memories?"

"Yes."

"They hurt, don't they?"

She didn't answer.

"Well, if you want to get rid of the hurt and the memories, you gotta stop doing all of this human stuff. You know: Manners. Meals. Morals. It's all shit, anyway."

"Are you… giving me advice?"

"Just FYI. I gotta do something when I'm bored. Anyway, all this self-help crap makes me wanna puke. I'm leaving," he said jumping up. "So long, Sloth."

And then the door closed.

…

She decided to live, ever since then, as a homunculus. She stopped cooking unnecessary meals and never tried to initiate human contact.

She found what Envy said about humans' sixth sense surprisingly accurate. Children ran away from her. Everyone else felt uncomfortable. Yet she couldn't seek companionship among the homunculi either: being the sadistic, aloof group that they were.

(She killed her first person, on Dante's orders during this time. She felt sick and Envy was laughing maniacally when it happened, while Lust seemed almost sympathetic, Gluttony not comprehending, and Pride indifferent. It took her a while, but she just had to remember that she was not human, and that human life meant nothing. She hid any lack of resolve she seemed to have.)

No one mattered to her, and she mattered to no one. The only way to minimize hurt was to stop longing for contact with anyone, human or homunculi. She eventually began to accept this as the main truth of her life, as she slowly eliminated any human traces of her human self.

The memories still didn't leave, and the pain felt as fresh as ever. Good thing she had all eternity for it to dull over.

…

And the, one day changed Juliet Douglass's life.

It was more or less a year since she had been born. She had learned to close the shades whenever she saw children playing outside. It would do no good to lament things that had passed and could never be again.

She took to taking long walks. She didn't have anything to fear in the city, and staying her room doing nothing just invited unnecessary thoughts. Her _creators _apparently had come to take the alchemy exam, but she would not interfere with them. She was not their mother and refused to be so weak and desperate as to reach out to them.

It was raining, but she didn't mind, considering the materials of her body. She had just found herself in an alley, when she saw a very odd looking dog, its silhouette barely distinguishable in the diminished light. It was whimpering pathetically, as though it were in some sort of pain.

She didn't think anything was amiss about the dog. That is, not until it came up and looked at her and moaned. "It hurts…"

She flinched and jumped back. "Chimera?" she asked, more to herself. The dog collapsed on the floor.

"Daddy… it's hurting. Stop…stop…it…"

She knelt down and looked at the beast. "What…?"

"Daddy… Mama…"

"Nina!" a young voice somewhere outside the alley called. "Where are you, girl?!"

She flinched at the voice, recognizing whose exactly it was. "Big brother… Ed…" the chimera rasped.

Again, some strange human emotions flowed to her heart: pity. Motherliness. She remembered what Chimeras were, and if this one could talk then… it was half human, and it seemed to be in pain. It was, as Dante would put it, a failure.

"Nina!" another young voice called.

Before Douglass knew what she was doing , she shifted her body into its comforting, watery form, enveloping the creature in her body, effectively covering the creature just enough to hide it, but with a few openings for it to breathe. It whimpered but soon fell silent, soothed by the feeling of being suspended in water. Then, she walked coldly out of the alley, passing a young man and a large suit of armor.

"Excuse me ma'am, have you seen a…?" the young man began, but she walked past him before he could get a good look at her face.

…

She let the chimera out in her apartment. It fell gasping to the floor, and ran away from her, cowering.

"What have I done now…?" she mused.

What indeed? (The poor thing… no, she mustn't think like that). What was there for the creature? Chimeras could not be turned back. Ones that were so poorly put together that their bodies were in pain could not be fixed without killing them.

She really should have thought before she acted. Now, she was stuck.

"What's your name?" she asked the creature.

It only winced and shrunk further back into the corner, shaking with fear.

"Is your name Nina?"

"Stranger… can't talk to…strangers…"

A child. Douglass felt her heart wrench inside. Someone had done this to a _child. _Alchemists were truly the most abominable human beings. No… she couldn't think that way, such thoughts were only human sentiments.

"I want… Daddy... please… Daddy…"

Could she take the creature to the Chimera labs? No… that was probably where it had been transformed. Only more pain would await it there. Maybe she could feed it, take care of it, give it a half-decent life…

Would it be another superfluous human gesture to save this creature?

(She didn't care, a voice inside her cried. Just _look _at it…)

Could any human soul have a half-decent life, forced into this form?

She knew what the solution was, the cold, rational answer to the question before her. There was no happy life for it alive, so… she could only put it out of its misery. That was the only solution. It was logical, practical, and even merciful. She had no other real choice.

She stepped closer, shifting her body into a watery mass, preparing to drown the creature. It whimpered and fell back into the corner.

_Dante would approve._

That was a good thing. After all, her goal was to become less human. The only reason she wanted to save it was because of maternal feelings carrying over from her time as a human. She should eliminate all such feelings. And if the Chimera had no more chance at happiness in life, then how could it possibly be a good thing to prolong its existence?

_Why are you even thinking about things being "good" at this point?_

It was really the only way. She moved forward, and looked in the creature's face…

And it was _crying. _Tears of fear and pain were running down its furry face. Choked sobbing noises came from its throat, and it backed further into its corner. For a moment, Douglass saw not a Chimeric beast, but a little girl who had been tortured and stripped of her humanity.

Something inside the homunculus snapped. She couldn't do it. So instead, she gave the creature a (non-lethal) hug.

"You poor, poor dear," she said, tears coming to her own eyes. "Poor girl."

The creature…girl…seemed surprised.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll find a way to fix you… You'll be human again, you won't have to suffer… poor thing. Poor thing."

Juliet Douglass had nothing in her existence worth living for. She worked every day for a purpose that she cared nothing about, and had no place among humans or homunculi. So why should she stop herself from getting attached to one creature that was possibly worse off than herself? Why not do something for someone else? Who cared if it had never been done before—they had philosophers' stones, didn't they? There should be something, _something _she could do, some alchemist she could entice into creating a solution, fueled by the stones…

After all, it might even give her something worth living for. As the non-human creature bend its head over her, whining and returning the embrace, she felt that maybe it could be worth it. And then she heard two words—

"Thank you…"

-and through her tears, the homunculus was smiling.

* * *

**You know how I said last chapter that I suck at humor writing? Apparently, the same goes for angsty/heartwarming pieces. I am not satisfied with this. Feel free to point out any flaws.**

**Thank you for reading, and reviews will be greatly appreciated!**


	4. Vita Homunculi

**Well, another homunculus one. Since absolutely no one is bothering to read this fic, I decided to post whatever I want. This is what I wanted to write. It's important to know that this occurs in the first anime verse, as I said in the summary, because here homunculi are "resurrected" humans, Frankenstein style.**

**Enjoy!**

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Vita Homunculi

* * *

Where to start?

I suppose I should begin with the day I was born; or night, I suppose. I don't remember much of it myself, though I think I remember more than most people. There was bright light, swirling around the room, along with blood, lots of it. I felt intense pain through every joint, so great I could barely scream, only managing a few cut-off hisses and gasps. But through it all, what I really focused on were those eyes. They were warm. Kind. Awed. But then they were frightened and horrified. I don't think I've seen a more dynamic expression of human emotion before or since. There was so much I saw in those eyes, but the most important thing was love. I knew I was loved, especially when _he _embraced me immediately after, tears in his eyes and hoarseness in his voice.

I've heard human births are much different. Apparently, none of them remember _their_ birth. The little I remember far exceeds what they do. It's strange to me that they don't. My birth is such an important memory to me. That feeling—that I had someone who loved me, that I had _family—_was, to say the least, a strong impression.

Too bad it didn't last.

You see, my _creator (_that's what I'm going to call him now) didn't expect to succeed. No, no… you see what _he _wanted was to go down with a bang, defying God to his last breath in defiance of taking everything from him. Basically, you see, he expected to die. He did his best, used all of the philosopher's stones he had found hidden in some laboratory somewhere, giving it his all and expecting to fail every second.

What, you ask? That mild-mannered young man would never have such wild thoughts? Well, I admit, he might not look the type from the outside, being polite and courteous and all that, but on the inside he's as bad as any Phaeton or Icarus. Once he didn't have anyone left, once he felt the true depths of despair, it came out with a vengeance. He would die, but he would die trying, even if before he had deemed it heresy.

The problem is really that it worked too well. I guess God is always thinking of new ways to fuck you over, huh?

It wasn't a problem at first. He was a bit repulsed, a bit frightened, and a bit in shock that he was alive (and with all his limbs) and that he had me to boot. It must have been the fact that he used all those philosopher's stones. (He told me later that he had thought it was a sin to use them at first… but later he had realized it was more of a sin not too, as it left millions of souls trapped forever, possibly in a hellish state, with no release).

Anyway, even though he had those misgivings, _he didn't reject me. _Not at first. At first, despite the fear and such I mentioned before, he did his best to help me out. He chatted about old memories, got me walking again, since my legs suffered from severe atrophy after creation, and even fed me. He really thought I was… well, after the deed he wasn't sure if he had been right (he had been frenzied, doing it… such emotions and the actions they cause leave you kicking yourself afterward) but he still had hope. Because he was convinced I was the person he had wanted, come back against all odds…

I'm going to be as brief as possible about this. It turned out I wasn't. The person he had lost… that person had only been _missing. _Most likely dead, pretty much confirmed dead, oh-no-really-he's-completely-dead dead, but actually alive.

And then he showed up.

I never saw him. My creator met him, though. He didn't give me the specifics, he just came home one day, his eyes wide with remorse.

"You're not him," he said.

"What?" I asked, "What are you saying?"

To be fair, it was difficult for him. He didn't know how to deal with it all. He hadn't _brought someone back; _he had created someone… me. A copy who looked like the person he wanted, a sack of meat with the right face and even most of the memories he wanted the person to have. He had wanted a replacement doll. Now he realized how foolish he had been, thinking that he had gotten his family back, when really he had just been playing with some toy.

He tried to be nice about it. He tried to acknowledge that I was a being, as well, and that I couldn't just be tossed into the trash. But I could see the revulsion in his eyes, the horror, the resentment, the regret. He was just _too fucking nice _to say, "Yeah, remember all I said about always being there for you, 'cuz we're family? Well, it turns out, you're just a clone homunculus. I have the real thing now. I realize you're a person, but I still can't stand you."

I fucking lost it. I hardly remember the things I said. I was so angry I blacked out, shouting at him. I do remember destroying a lot of the house, though, breaking things. How could he? After walking with him, talking with him, laughing with him, feeling so reassured, like I belonged somewhere, he was telling me it was just a delusion? Who was I? What was I? What was I going to do, now that the _real thing _had shown up?

I didn't stay to find out. I left. At first, I thought it was just to clear my head. I thought I'd get away for just a day… take some time in the world outside the little cottage we'd stayed. He hadn't allowed me to leave there since I was born. I wasn't a prisoner or anything, he had just advised against it, until he could think up something to tell "our" friends. So I decided to get out of there this time, just to clear my mind.

I ended up walking longer than I intended. The more I walked, the more I felt I could forget about that god awful fight, and the god-fucking-awful situation I was in. I looked around. It was springtime, so it wasn't bad looking, or hearing for that matter. Birds were chirping, crop fields were glistening, flowers were budding along the side of the road… all that. I'm not a poet or anything, but I can say it felt nice. Out in nature, away from _him, _it was like I was a completely new person.

Someone stopped by and offered me a ride. I was dumbfounded at first, but got in. She asked if I was going to the city, and I said yes. Simply because I didn't know what else to say.

So I went to the city. The lady asked if I had any money. I said no, so she was awesome enough to give me some, along with a kiss on the cheek, before driving off. I forget her name; too bad, since without that ride and that money, I might have been completely lost. My creator would have found me pretty quickly, and I would have never taken the action I did…

I was kind of dull back then, so I spent most of my time wandering around the city, being a fucking idiot instead of heading straight for the bar like I would now. But I got to think about a lot of things. I thought about who I was, and what I would do. A big part of me wanted to go back to my creator and beg him with tears in my eyes to let me stay with him, even if I was a fake. He probably would have let me, too. Or he would have killed me.

What stopped me was this sudden thought. I forget how it came to me. But it was because I was thinking of the other homunculi: Lust, Envy, Sloth, and Wrath in particular. As far as I could recall, all of them could do nothing with their lives, except stay in the shadow of their last one. Lust was always trying to become the person she was based on. Sloth—I think?—was always trying to reject that person, but she still ended up acting around it. Envy couldn't let some grievance from that other person's life go. Wrath, like Sloth, was trying desperately to get rid of the person he was supposed to be.

Thinking about them, I realized that if I went back to my creator, I would end up doing the same. I would always be trying to live up to this image of who he wanted me to be, always trying to compete with someone else for a place in life, always rejected, even if silently, because _I am not that man. _It would drive me insane—just like it drove _them _insane. I would always be fed scraps at the table, so to speak, like _Wrath _was, after they decided to pity him.

_Fuck. That._

That's when I decided to take that money, leave, and never look back. I sat down for a moment, and decided a few things:

I would stop myself from thinking about my creator, and would stop using his name. The name had too much emotion connected to it,

I would leave and never try to find out more about my past… no, the past of the person I was based on. I would push it from my mind, and instead focus on creating my own identity,

I would refuse to mope about any of this. Because moping shows that they've gotten to me. It shows that I can't be happy without their approval and acceptance. Well, I can.

And finally, I would choose my own name, a _human _name, one completely different from that of the person I was based on.

(And not one of those god awful silly homunculi names. Seriously: who names someone after the seven sins? Oh yeah, that Dante bitch. Well, fuck, I'm a _man, _even if I was created by another, and not some abstract personification. Thank you? Thank you.)

Deciding these things, I headed off. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, and it didn't feel all that triumphant. Actually I felt a bit sick for a moment, thinking that I would never see my creator again. But I kept on going.

I am not bound to _be _anything. I am not what my creator wanted me to be: I share face and memories and similar traits, but there's more to an identity that those things. I am not what the military might expect me to be if they found out about me: I am not a monster, or an unnatural thing that needs to be watched or shunned. I am myself; a homunculus, separate from any other being, not chained to what others believe about me.

I am Tony Michaels.

_Not _Edward Elric 2.0.

* * *

**Darn, I kind of wish I had written this as an original story, now... I also kind of want to continue it. Ah well, like that will happen.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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